Tangled Webs
by MizJoely
Summary: Gisburne weaves a despicable plot but Marion doesn't do as expected and all Gisburne's plans unravel. Meanwhile, Marion finds herself in a tangle of her own making. Will she find her way back to Robin? Set before and immediately after "Time of the Wolf." Chapter 5 now posted.
1. Blood

**Warning: Violent noncon in this chapter. And the romance I refer to in the description of this story is between Marion and Robin(2), not Marion and Gisburne. This is definitely a more brutal story than my previous offering, "Destiny's Child, Greenwood's Heir." Not meant for the kiddies, but I promise this is the harshest chapter by far.**

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**Marion**

It was brutal, it was painful and humiliating in ways she'd never dreamed possible, and it was her own fault.

She should have known, somehow, although she still wasn't sure, in the immediate aftermath, how she could have. Gisburne had acted with a swiftness and brutality that didn't surprise her, and a cunning she'd never have credited him with. The trap had been well set, a call for help from one of the local village lads bringing her to the isolated home of a charcoal burner and his young wife.

She could only assume the boy who had summoned her had been tricked as well. Maude, the charcoal burner's wife, had no doubt been forced on pain of death to ask him to fetch Marion to help her with "woman's troubles," as the boy had blushingly informed her when he made his appearance in their camp. Robin had sent her on her way, she'd brought with her what few things she had on hand that might help, and had arrived to find neither Maude nor her husband, Corwin, anywhere to be found. Fled or dead, Marion still had no idea, and until the pain subsided and she was able to do more than crawl, no way to find out.

God and Herne, she'd never felt so much pain between her legs and in her abdomen, not during her monthlies, not the first time she and her first Robin had made love on their wedding night and she'd surrendered to him a woman's most precious gift. The brief pain then had been overwhelmed by her love for her husband, his tenderness and concern for her comfort.

Tenderness…she felt a bitter laugh trying to escape her lips and bit it back ruthlessly. Hysteria would surely follow and she needed to keep what little wits remained to her under careful control.

Tenderness had been the last thing on Gisburne's mind when he stepped from behind the half-opened door as she entered the dim interior of the windowless hut, slamming it shut behind them both.

She should have known what he intended when she noticed, her mind working at top speed, that he'd shed his armor, although he still held his sword threateningly in one hand. Later she realized his tunic was unbelted as well, although that detail escaped her in the first rush of adrenaline-fueled panic.

She'd turned at bay as soon as she saw him, before the door fully shut, pulling out her dagger since her bow was useless in such close quarters. Gisburne had the reach advantage, but she thought to make him pay dearly for any attempt to drag her back to Nottingham, the fate she mistakenly assumed awaited her as soon as he got his filthy hands on her.

He gave a disdainful laugh as she whirled to face him, her inadequate dagger aimed directly at his heart. She had a split second to make a decision, and prayed it was the right one as she flipped her weapon backwards, holding by the flat of the blade as she raised it over her shoulder and threw it at him the way Nasir had taught her. Even as the knife left her hand, she made a dash for the room's only exit—the door Gisburne was blocking with his body.

She startled him enough with the speed and ferocity of her attack that he ducked aside, the dagger barely grazing one cheek, but drawing blood nonetheless. As she reached frantically for the door, however, he recovered himself and grabbed her around the waist, twisting her away just as her fingers touched the latch.

She screamed with anger and kicked out, but he held her firmly by the waist with one arm while he dropped his sword and trapped her arms tightly against her chest. He easily avoided the frantic movements of her legs, then with brutal suddenness slammed her up against the very door that had been her goal scant seconds before, knocking the breath from her and leaving her reeling in pain.

Feeling his hot breath against her cheek as he pressed his body against hers, she heard him say in a hoarse voice: "A good try, Lady Wolf's Head. But you'll not leave this hovel till I give you leave to do so." His voice lowered as he whispered directly into her ear: "And don't think you won't pay for the damage you've done to me."

And so it had proved. Marion flinched away from the memories, still as raw and aching as her bruised and battered body, but as impossible to ignore. He'd deftly removed her quiver and arrows, tossing them carelessly to the floor next to his sword while continuing to hold her pinned in place with the weight of his body pressed so tightly against hers she fancied she could count every rib in his chest, every stitch and seam in his clothing.

She still didn't quite understand what he had in mind, even though she could plainly feel the shape of his arousal against the cleft of her buttocks. It wasn't until he went to work on her clothing, fumbling with one hand at her waist to remove her belt so he could more easily pull off her tunic, that she came out of her shock enough to realize that he wasn't simply taking her prisoner, not this time.

She'd held still in hopes of lulling him into a false sense of security, but reason snapped when she felt his hands traveling eagerly beneath her clothing, insinuating themselves between her arms and chest. That eagerness on his part gave her an opening, no matter how small, and she took immediate advantage as her hands were finally freed and she reached behind her blindly to claw at the still-bleeding wound on his cheek.

He'd stumbled back with a howl of rage and pain, but when she tried once again to fling open the door, he was on her before she'd done more than lift the latch and yank open the wooden barrier that was all that stood between her and freedom.

With one hand he slammed the door shut, easily overpowering her frantic efforts at escape. With the other, he grabbed a fistful of her tunic near the back of her neck, almost yanking her off her feet as he pulled her back and away from the door. She lost her footing fully when he wheeled her around, shoving her toward the low pallet that served as Maude and Corwin's bed.

She immediately attempted to scramble to her feet, but Gisburne was on her before she could get further than her knees, slamming her back against the heap of dingy blankets that made up the bedclothes and once again covering her body with his own.

"Another good try," he growled as he pinned her arms over her head, holding them easily with one hand. He ignored the blood dripping down his cheek and onto Marion's tunic as he leaned over her. "But even if you manage to get away from me and reach the door, what makes you think you'll get past the soldiers waiting to drag you back in here?" He smiled mockingly down at her enraged face. "Or would you rather I had one of them hold you down while I do the deed? Would you truly prefer an audience?"

She froze at those words, staring up at him as her face went from flushed with rage to pale with sudden terror. Oh no, he wouldn't…surely he didn't mean…but he did, she saw it his eyes, the desire and rage, watched as he licked his lips in anticipation, cursed him with every fiber of his being as he bound her hands together, dragged them back up over her head and fastened them to something she couldn't free herself from no matter how hard she struggled.

With her hands secured, Gisburne turned his attention once more to her clothing, shoving her tunic up over her head so it tangled around her upper arms. When that effort exposed the bindings that supported her breasts and kept them from bouncing painfully when she ran, he muttered a curse and snatched up her dagger, slicing through the fabric while Marion continued to fight him as best she could.

But there was no escape, although she sent out frantic prayers, pleas and threats to God, Herne, and anyone else that might be listening, pleas for help, for Gisburne to drop dead where he knelt above her, for anything, _anything_ that might spare her the horrors to come.

No such aid materialized. Gisburne fell upon her, but not because death had struck from above, only to place greedy lips on her exposed breasts, nipping them painfully while he shoved her skirts up above her waist and went to work cutting away the rest of her underclothing and exposing her nether regions to the loathsome touch of his insistent fingers.

She nearly screamed then, but bit her tongue and held it in, grimly determined to stop this from happening…and knowing, deep in her heart, how futile a determination that was. Still, it wasn't in Marion of Leaford to submit passively to fate. By God and Herne, Gisburne wouldn't be allowed to take her without a fight. Glaring at his face as he raised himself over her and fumbled with one hand at his trousers, she spat at him.

Although she missed his face, the spittle landing harmlessly on his tunic shoulder, his face blackened with rage and he raised a fist, smashing the side of her head almost hard enough to knock her out. She could hear the inadvertent cry that she made as the blow landed, but was too dazed to do more than blink in an attempt to regain the focus in her eyes. For a brief moment there were two Gisburnes in front of her. _As if one wasn't bad enough,_ she thought with a sudden burst of hysteria, and clamped down tightly on the laugher that threatened to overwhelm her. Laughter that would quickly turn to sobs, and she would _never_ allow Gisburne to see her weeping.

As she fought to recover from the blow to her head, the ringing in her ears was replaced by first the incongruous notes of a bird singing somewhere outside, then the noises Gisburne was making: the panting of his eager breath, the sound of his shoes being kicked off his feet, the whisper of clothing as he slithered out of his trousers and tossed his tunic over his head to lie, helter-skelter, wherever it fell.

When he was completely naked, he reached down and stroked greedy fingers down her body from breast to private parts as she flinched away from his unwanted touch. "I've long wondered how it would be to lie between your legs, Lady Wolf's Head," he said in a voice thickened by lust. "Let's find out, shall we?"

She continued to fight him as best she could, tasting blood on her lips from Gisburne's blow, threatening him with her eyes, kicking out when he temporarily freed one leg as he shoved his knee between hers. But the blow landed harmlessly against his thigh, and he had the gall to laugh at her as he thrust into her with a grunt of satisfaction.

He used her ruthlessly, more than once, and each time she prayed would be the last. But instead of leaving her or dragging her off to Nottingham, he would merely roll onto his side, one leg covering both of hers to keep her pinned in place, until enough time had passed for him to be ready again. And again. After the third time she fell into a kind of stupor, losing track of the world around her as her vision grayed and numbness finally, mercifully, settled over her body.

After an unknown amount of time had passed, a backhanded slap roused her, and she found she'd been freed from her bonds and Gisburne's hateful body as well. He was resting on his haunches next to her, fully clothed once more, sword in hand as he contemplated her supine form.

She couldn't move. A sickening combination of shame and rage, coupled with a sudden return of pain, kept her limp and unmoving on the bed. She felt a trickle of fluids between her legs and knew without looking that blood was part of it.

Gisburne raised his free hand to her cheek. She flinched away from his touch, more a reflex than a conscious act, watching him through eyes dulled with pain and the beginnings of shock. In spite of her movement, his knuckles touched her cheek with the gentleness of a lover's caress. "I'll be waiting for him," he said with a gloating smile, and Marion didn't need to ask who "he" might be. "He'll be so blind with rage over this, he'll be easy prey." Then he leaned forward and pressed a kiss against her unwilling lips, forcing his tongue into her mouth in a mockery of intimacy that left her stomach churning with nausea.

She hadn't even the strength of will to bite him or try to try and push him away, merely let him assault her mouth as he'd assaulted the rest of her body, then watched apathetically as he rose to his feet and headed for the door. He stepped over her bow and arrows as he pulled the door open, ignoring them as if inconsequential, and so they'd proven to be. Her dagger, however, he kept, ostentatiously tucking it into his boot before smiling and swaggering off, not bothering to close the door behind him.

When he was gone, when she was finally, mercifully alone, Marion curled into a tight ball of misery and wept.

**Gisburne**

"Finished, my lord?"

Gisburne glanced over his shoulder at the door he'd just closed, a satisfied smile on his face. "Oh, yes," he replied to the leering question the soldier had asked. "Quite."

He strode to his horse and swung himself briskly into the saddle, trying not to wince at the tenderness between his legs. He'd not bedded a wench with such ferocity—not to mention frequency—in far too long, and would no doubt be feeling the results of his…enthusiasm…for several days. Ah well, a small price to pay for the satisfaction he'd gained. And once Marion crawled back to her Wolf's Head lover and his men and told them what had happened….Gisburne's smirk broadened into a gloating smile. Huntington would react as any outraged lover would, without thought of consequence, dashing off to avenge his greenwood whore, and be cut down like the worthless dog he was.

The anticipation of that moment was almost as satisfying as the afternoon he'd just spent reminding the Lady Marion of a woman's place in the world.

He sneered as he urged his horse into an easy canter once they cleared the woods and made for the road to Nottingham. That whore had no doubt spread her legs for every one of Huntington's filthy outlaws by now, from the half-wit to the giant to the dark-skinned Saracen. No decent woman would run wild with a pack of men, and if she'd willingly given herself to two different men who called themselves Robin i' the Hood, then obviously she would let any man put his hands up her skirts.

A jolt as his horse stumbled over a loose patch of gravel brought his thoughts back to his current state of discomfort, and he forgot Marion as easily as he would have the face of an anonymous peasant in a crowd. Cursing under his breath with every step the miserable beast took, he spent the remainder of the journey home wishing desperately for a cool poultice and the warmth of his bed.

After all, he'd certainly earned his rest today.

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_A/N: What can I say, Sir Guy of Gisburne is my favorite Robin Hood baddie from this show, although the sheriff comes a close second. This is in spite of the bumbling idiot he was portrayed as, but in an on-going series, the writers have to jump through some pretty preposterous hoops to keep the villains alive and kicking from episode to episode. I've chosen to pretend that Gisburne actually does have a brain in his head, which probably makes this an alternate universe. Either way, I know I've done Bad Things to Marion again in this story, but I promise, things will get better. Eventually. R&R but please keep flames to yourselves; constructive criticism is always welcomed and PMs promptly responded to. Thanks for reading._


	2. Runaway

**Marion**

Night fell before she finally found the strength to stand, to shred the stained blanket on which she'd lain into rags, to find water and wincingly begin the process of cleaning herself. She tidied her clothing as best she could, substituting what was no doubt Maude's best set of underclothing for her own and pulling her torn and mangled tunic over her head. Then she left the hut, bow and arrows in hand, and made her plodding way back to the outlaw camp without bothering to look for the missing charcoaler and his wife. If they were dead, as she suspected they were, then there was nothing she could do to help them. And if they'd fled, well, there wasn't much she could do about that, either.

When she limped back into camp an hour or so later, she was met with mingled cries of relief and distress. Robin took one look at her tightly pressed lips and bruised face and managed to herd the others away from her as she bee-lined for her small lean-to.

"Marion, what's happened?" he asked, blue eyes flashing with concern as she reached the entrance to that haven. The entrance faced away at an angle, enough to allow her privacy but not so much that she could, for example, be dragged out of it in the middle of the night with no one noticing.

Robin was waiting for an answer, and Marion studied her feet as she quickly went over the story she'd concocted during the long walk home. She couldn't bear to look into those eyes so like and yet so unlike those of his bastard half-brother. "I fell," she lied. "On the rocks coming back from Maude. A stupid mistake." She shook her head as if in rueful chagrin at her own clumsiness. "I'm fine." How many times, she wondered distantly, could she lie to her Robin in a single night?

Robin would know the rocks she referred to, a series of boulders and outcroppings of bedrock that littered the swiftest path to the charcoal burner's hut. A small stream ran through part of it, and she knew he'd assumed it was on those slippery boulders she'd taken her tumble.

He took her chin gently in his hand, and she forced herself not to flinch away from his touch. "You don't look fine," he chided her, his thumb barely skimming the gash in her swollen lower lip.

"Well, I did land on my face," she replied, striving to keep her tone light. "And twisted my ankle," she remembered to add, to explain her limp. She managed a flash of a smile as she forced herself to look directly at his worried face. "Right now I'm just tired and a little embarrassed. I'd like to wash up, then get some sleep, if you don't mind."

He gave her a piercing look, while she stared blankly back at him, willing him to believe her. Then, reluctantly, he stepped out of her way, only pausing to ask about Maude's condition.

"She's fine," Marion said. Another lie, and one more easily disproven than her claims to a fall as explanation for her injuries. "The herbs helped, and I left enough for the next time she might need them as well."

Robin accepted her words; why shouldn't he? She'd never lied to him before, certainly not about something so seemingly innocuous. And if their bodies were ever found? She would simply pretend to be as shocked as anyone else. Never, _never_ would she reveal what Gisburne had done to her. Not just out of shame, but because of the threats he'd made, right before that disgusting kiss. She nearly retched at the thought of his lips on hers, but forced her stomach to behave itself as she settled into her shelter. She would never, _ever_ be the reason Robin would face capture or death. She still carried a load of guilt for how her husband, her first Robin, had died, and now that her feelings toward Robert of Huntington, her new Robin, had grown into love, she would cast herself into hellfire before being forced to watch him die.

She would die herself, first, exile herself from all she knew and loved, flee to the farthest ends of the Earth if she had to.

Never again.

**Two Months Later**

**Marion**

Marion lay sobbing over Robin's body, blue eyes closed to the sun forever, blonde hair already seeming duller to her eyes, his skin ashen. She'd sworn never to witness anything like this again, and yet, here she was, history repeating itself, and she couldn't bear it.

"Robin, I can't take this anymore," she whispered as the tears began to subside. "I can't do this again, I _can't_. How could you let this happen, how could I?"

Even after she discovered that it wasn't truly Robert of Huntington who lay there, that it was some hideous simulacrum, the pain and despair didn't fade. Indeed, it grew, and she knew she had to do something to save herself. Especially since she'd proven woefully inadequate at saving anyone else she loved.

The moment she made her decision to leave the outlaws, to leave _him_, she knew it was selfish, but she couldn't bear the anguish a second longer, couldn't bear the idea of living a life that would inevitably lead to further loss.

And once she fled to Halstead Abbey, she realized just how important a decision that was, that she had further reason to distance herself from Robin. She hadn't noticed, hadn't allowed herself to realize, that her monthlies hadn't come since before Gisburne assaulted her, but one month into her stay at Halstead, she could no longer ignore the facts of her changing body.

If she'd remained in Sherwood, Robin would have eventually recognized her condition, and questions would have been asked she had no desire to answer. Either she would have had to lie about having a secret tryst with some other man, or she'd have been forced to tell the truth about what Gisburne had done to her.

She was with child, and Robin had never been her lover, no matter what Gisburne assumed. She was no man's harlot; when and if Robin had ever asked her to marry him, she would have done so and gladly, would have given herself to him on their wedding night without hesitation, but never before that moment.

Now, that moment would never come.

When Robin came after her, as she knew inevitably would, she prayed he would be convinced by her words, that he would stay away so she wouldn't have to make the decision to either hurt him more than she already had, or condemn him to death at Gisburne's hand by speaking the truth, knowing full well that he'd react exactly as their enemy predicted he would. Neither option held any appeal, so instead, when he inevitably made his way to the Abbey to beg her to return only days after her arrival, she spoke only of her original reasons for staying away, and sent him on his way without a clue as to the truth of the matter.

A truth that quickly made itself known, at least to the more worldly of the sisters, and from them quickly to the Abbess. And once she knew, she wasted no time in summoning Marion to her private rooms for an explanation.

She told the older woman everything, leaving out nothing, unflinching in her description of how Gisburne had used her, and adamant in her denial of knowing or even suspecting her condition before taking the vows of a novice at the abbey. When she finished speaking, she bowed her head and awaited judgement. "I'll leave if you wish it of me."

A long pause followed her words, then the rustle of cloth as the Abbess approached and took Marion's hands in hers. "Child, think you you're the first woman to seek the solace of the veil after being so cruelly used? Or the first to enter the convent with a babe in your belly?" She tipped Marion's face up to meet hers, smiling gently. "Of course you may stay. And the secret of your child's parentage shall remain between us. I know of Gisburne; were he to discover the truth, he would stop at nothing to force you to marry him and allow him to raise the child, as is his right," she added, but not in condemnation of Marion's decision not to let him know the truth. "If any were to discover the truth, he would have the law on his side and every right to carry you away from here. Neither he nor anyone else will ever learn that truth from my lips, on that you have my promise and sacred vow."

Marion felt tears gathering in the corners of her eyes, tears of gratitude and humility. She'd been terrified of this meeting, afraid that the Abbess would turn her out or even, as she had every right to do, summon Gisburne as soon as the truth was out. But in spite of those fears she'd been determined not to lie, not to start her new life with another sin on her conscience.

"However," the Abbess added with a hint of sternness, "you cannot wear the veil of novice unless you determine to give up the babe after it's born."

That brought Marion up short; how could she not have considered such a possibility? Although she loathed her child's father and how the babe had been conceived, she hadn't thought about the consequences of keeping the child after it was born. Or the possibility of giving it up to someone else to raise. "I…I'll have to think about it," she stuttered. "I hadn't…I haven't…"

"No need to worry on it now," the Abbess soothed. "When you're ready, you'll make the right decision, whatever it turns out to be. For now you may remain here as a lay helper, with work assigned to you to help earn your keep as if you were still a novitiate. And if you do decide to give up the child and take the veil as your vocation, then you will be more than welcome to stay."

"Thank you," Marion said, knowing a dismissal when she heard one, no matter how kindly stated. "I would like to go to chapel and pray for guidance before dinner."

The Abbess nodded her permission and Marion took her leave, head reeling from the choices she suddenly had before her. Choices she hadn't even thought to consider until the Abbess pointed them out to her.

Ah, but she had some time before those decisions had to be made, and now that Robin understood that she refused to return to Sherwood with him, she'd have the peace she needed to make those decisions with a calm heart and rational mind.


	3. Foolproof

**Three Months Later**

**Gisburne**

"That bitch!" Gisburne roared, smashing his fist on the table, sending candlesticks and mugs flying with the strength of his blow. It had been nearly five months, and nothing had come of his brilliant plan. Nothing but word that Marion had fled Nottingham, apparently without telling anyone what he'd gone to such pains to do to her. What was worse, no one seemed to know where she'd gone. Not to Leaford, not to Kirklees, not anywhere Gisburne could discover in spite of frantic searches conducted whenever he could get away from his normal duties. He pounded the table again, then flinched at an unexpected voice in his ear.

"Which bitch would that be, Gisburne? Which lovely lady spurned your advances this time?"

It was the Sheriff, of course; de Rainault could move like a slinking cat when he wanted. Sir Guy shrugged, not bothering to answer his superior's insinuating questions, but the Sheriff was undeterred by his underling's silence. He simply slipped into his throne-like seat at the head of the table and contemplated the havoc Gisburne had wreaked upon the silver. A nervous serving wench sidled up and started righting the overturned candlesticks and cups, but he waved her away. There was no one else at that end of the table, only a few drunken fools at the lower end, far enough away for a private conversation.

"So?" he prompted when Gisburne remained stubbornly silent. "Which bitch has escaped your tender advances?"

"Not escaped," the young knight blurted out, then bit his lip in vexation at his inadvertent revelation.

De Rainault raised an eyebrow. "Not escaped, yet left you cursing her in her absence? Was she so poor a tumble that even a man with your low standards left her bed disappointed?"

He grinned openly at the glare Gisburne shot his way. The fool was so easy to manipulate it almost wasn't worth trying. Almost. Anything that had his underling in such a state was well worth investigating. "So?" he prompted a second time, stabbing his dagger into a pear and taking a healthy bite before continuing his needling. "Who was she? Anyone I know?"

Gisburne turned his glare downward, seething both inwardly and outwardly, knowing that the Sheriff was like a dog with a bone; once he got his teeth into something, he rarely let it go. Today, Gisburne's personal business had caught de Rainault's eye and he'd have no peace till he admitted what he'd done.

"I trapped Marion of Leaford," he began, then hesitated. How much detail would the Sheriff want or need?

"Trapped her? So where is she?" de Rainault craned his neck to look around the great room as if expecting to see a bound prisoner he'd missed standing among the courtiers and hangers-on and servants.

Gisburne squirmed in his seat. "I let her go," he admitted.

"Let her go!" the Sheriff was incredulous, and so he should be. "What did she do, bat her eyes like the harlot she is and convince you to let her run back to Huntingdon?"

"I meant to let her go all along!" Gisburne shouted, then lowered his voice as curious eyes turned their way. "I _wanted_ her to go running back to Robin Hood, crying about what I'd done to her. Then he'd be bound to come after me in a rage, and we'd have his head on a platter for King John's pleasure."

In spite of himself de Rainault was intrigued. "What exactly did you do to her that was supposed to enrage Huntingdon so? Slap her around? Beat her?" At Gisburne's sly grin, he leaned back in his chair, an expression of disbelief dominating his face. "You took her? Used her? You—" He made a vulgar gesture with his fingers as if unable to form the actual words for the act he still couldn't believe Gisburne had had the balls to perform.

"I fucked her," Gisburne replied in a low, satisfied voice, his smirk growing as he took in the Sheriff's stunned reaction to his words. "Over and over again. Then I let her go scurrying back to the greenwood and Robin Hood's loving arms. But either she never told him or he didn't react the way I'd expect a man to react."

"And did you, perhaps, tell her you expected her to do just that? To pour out her heart about how you'd abused her so?"

The sheriff's voice was sweetly poisonous as he spoke, and Gisburne nodded warily, knowing there was a sting in the scorpion's tail but not sure where it would land.

"Idiot," de Rainault finally said, lacing the word with more than his usual contempt as he stared angrily at his underling. "Why didn't you put this plan before me first, so I could tell you exactly why it wouldn't work?"

"It was foolproof," Gisburne protested, only to be interrupted by de Rainault's sardonic chortle.

"Of course it was, only a fool like you believes in foolproof plans." He spat contemptuously, narrowly missing Gisburne's boots. "Foolproof. Did you truly believe Marion would tell her lover what had happened to her…AFTER YOU TOLD HER THAT WAS PRECISELY WHAT YOU WANTED HER TO DO?!"

He roared out the last sentence, unable to contain his boiling rage. Such an opportunity, lost because of Gisburne's perpetual, everlasting, unending _idiocy_! It was a sound plan, but only if the fool had let Marion think that she'd managed to escape on her own, and he wasted no time in telling Gisburne so, although he managed to bring his voice back down to something resembling confidentiality as he did so.

After a sharp moment where everyone in the room paused to stare at them, things gradually settled back to normal; the Sheriff berating Gisburne at the top of his lungs was hardly surprising. Sooner or later someone would find out what it was about this time and the news would make the gossip circuit until something more interesting came along to replace it.

Gisburne sat rigidly in his seat as the Sheriff continued to point out exactly what a dunderheaded move he'd made. Not in assaulting the girl in the first place; that much he gave credit for being a good idea. As for the plan's execution…

It would be a good hour before the Sheriff finally wound down, and another after that before he gave Gisburne leave to end their impromptu audience. Marion had fled, whereabouts unknown, and the opportunity had slipped through their hands.

Or so the Sheriff believed. The one good effect his ranting and raving had on Gisburne was that it set his mind to work on a second plan.

After all, he didn't need Marion to be the one to let Robin Hood know what had happened to her.

All he had to do was make sure someone overheard him boasting of the deed, someone who was sure to get word to the right ear.

And the Sheriff could go piss in the wind when Gisburne was the one to bring Robin Hood's head to King John.


	4. Arrow

**Marion**

Marion straightened and rubbed her lower back, seeking to ease the ever-present ache that had taken up residence there somewhere around her fourth month of pregnancy. She was five months along now, and had seen neither hide nor hair of any of Robin's men since first arriving at Halstead. Nor had she heard even a whisper of word from Nottingham itself; no soldiers, no rumors, nothing. Comforting, yet disconcerting at the same time.

When her peace was shattered at last, a peace she'd come hesitantly to hope would be permanent, it was in ways both expected and dreaded, and completely unanticipated.

The first thing to ruin her carefully cultivated tranquility was an arrow. She'd been helping in the fields outside the cloister walls, harvesting the root vegetables that would be the staples of their winter diet, working the hoe while others bent and lifted the exposed roots into the large baskets provided for just that purpose. The arrow was sticking out of the ground, still quivering, when she came across it, although neither she nor anyone else had seen it flying through the air, too engrossed in their various tasks. And the sender had deliberately set it to where she and only she would see it, she realized as she glanced around, one hand continuing to rub idly at her back. No one was near her at the moment; several of the sisters had stopped to rest or take a sorely needed sip of water from the barrel set into the middle of the field.

No, the arrow was meant for her eyes and her eyes only…and it was a message, rather than an attack. She recognized the fletching as easily as she might her own signature, and such it was, in a way.

It was an arrow she, herself, had fletched, for one of Robin's men, if not Robin himself.

Heart pounding, she turned to gaze into the forest depths that bordered the field on two sides. Keeping her voice as calm as possible, she called out that she was going to excuse herself for a few minutes, waiting until she saw a hand waving acknowledgment before striding unhurriedly toward the nearest copse of trees. She allowed her stride to lengthen just a bit as she reached it, as if need was overcoming decorum, and ducked behind the closest tree, out of sight of the other women, waiting, terrified of who might be about to greet her. Terrified that Robin would be there, and equally terrified that he wouldn't.

When a figure detached itself from beside another tree not too far from the one behind which she'd sought refuge, she didn't know whether to laugh or cry as she realized it was too large to be mistaken for Robin. Too large to be mistaken for anyone else but Little John. Wordlessly he stood before her, then smiled a hesitant smile and reached out as if to embrace her.

She smiled back at him, but stepped out of his reach. Her loose clothing helped hide her condition from prying eyes, but if she allowed him to get close enough to hug her, he would discover her secret as easily as if she'd whispered it in his ear. "John, it's…good to see you," she said when the silence between them stretched uncomfortably.

"It's good to see you too, Marion," he replied, his smile fading, replaced by a look of resignation that nearly broke her heart. She was the cause of that disappointment, but she couldn't help it; he had to understand that she wasn't going to return to Sherwood with him. Not now, not ever. And he needed to know that, definitively.

Before he could launch into whatever speech it was he going to give her, she spoke up. "John, it is good to see you, but what are you doing here? If you've come to try and convince me to go back, it's no good," she said, shaking her head firmly. "I've made my decision and I'm not leaving. What I told Robin is the simple truth; I can't bear to be there when he dies, I'm not strong enough for that kind of pain twice in my life. I'm sorry."

John looked as if he were about to interrupt her when she first started speaking, but subsided, waiting stoically for her to finish. "I was going to ask, but you made it very clear the last time we tried to convince you to come home," he replied. "I volunteered to come because we need to ask you about Maude and Corwin, the charcoaler and his wife."

Marion froze. Maude and Corwin. She hadn't thought of them in months; had their bodies finally been found, or had they returned and refuted her story? "What about them?" she asked, keeping her voice as steady as she could.

John shifted from foot to foot, peering out at her from beneath his forelock. He'd allowed his hair to grow long and shaggy once again. "They're dead," he said, as gently as he could break such grim news. "What's more, they've been dead for months. We think it probably happened right after you visited them."

Marion released her pent-up breath in a silent sigh of relief, knowing John would interpret it as sorrow. No one suspected her; good. She sent a brief prayer for their souls heavenward, but couldn't spare the emotion to feel more than a brief flash of sorrow and guilt. Gisburne had killed them or had them killed just so he could trap her and force himself upon her, but they were long dead and there was nothing she could do about it. She said as much to John, allowing her bewilderment to show. "Why come all this way to tell me that, John? There's nothing I or anyone else can do for them now, save pray for their souls."

John continued to study her, but there was something different about his body language, a slight stiffening that told her she'd made some kind of mistake. Had he recognized her condition, seen her in silhouette, perhaps, while she was under the sun and working her hoe? But if he had, surely he would have already demanded an explanation of her. One she was unprepared to give. "You don't want to know how they died?" he asked, his voice curiously flat.

She cursed herself for her slowness. Of course, that should have been the first thing out of her mouth, and under normal circumstances, it would have been. "Of course I do," she rushed to assure him, reaching out one hand in an abortive motion before allowing it to drop back to her side. "I just—it was such a shock, hearing you say they were dead, but all I could think about was how far you'd traveled just to tell me about it. Is it because I was the last to see them alive? Or at least, the last to see Maude," she amended, remembering that Corwin would have been unlikely to linger when women's troubles were under discussion.

John nodded, but she could tell he was still suspicious of her in spite of her attempt at reassurance. "We thought she might have told you something, that you might have seen something before you took your spill," he said, his eyes suddenly unfocused, as if he were thinking back to that day, six months gone now. "You fell on the rocks with the stream running through them, right? That's why you were so bruised and bloodied, isn't that what you told Robin?"

Oh, God and Herne, he _was_ suspicious. Marion felt the blood drain from her face and prayed that the dimness beneath the thick canopy of trees would hide that from him. She looked down, allowing the short gray veil that covered her hair to hide her face as well. "Yes, that's right," she said, inching backwards. "John, I'm sorry, Maude said nothing and I saw nothing. I have to get back, the others will be worried about me if I stay here much longer…"

She turned to run, but John reached out a long arm and snagged her by the wrist, forcing her to turn and look at him. "You weren't wet," he murmured as something that had long been teasing at him finally made itself known. "Not your clothing, not your hair…the only wetness on you was the blood on your tunic. And your dagger, you never said you lost it, but Much mentioned that you'd asked for one of his spares a few days later. I thought nothing of it at the time, but now…" His grip tightened as Marion stared mutely up at him, watching with a sinking heart as his face hardened into a mask of suspicious anger. "Why did you lie about that, Marion? What _really_ happened?"

"Please, John, I beg of you, let it go," she whispered, unable to meet his eyes. "I swear to you on my father's life, I knew nothing of their deaths."

"But whatever happened to you, whatever 'accident' you met with had something to do with it, didn't it."

He wasn't going to let it go, let her go. Eyes brimming with sudden tears, she stole a look upward, to see him glaring down at her. That John Little would ever look at her with such suspicion and anger in his eyes nearly broke her heart. "Please," she tried again, but he cut her off, yanking her around to face him directly and forcing her face up by grasping her chin in his free hand until she had no choice but to look at him or else close her eyes.

"You've changed," he said, his voice wondering and hurt at the same time. "Whatever happened…I know you'd never betray us, betray _him_, but why keep secrets? What secret could be so important…"

His voice trailed off as he continued to study her. When he suddenly released his grip on her wrist and placed his large hand on her abdomen, she swallowed a cry of despair as she saw his eyes widen in recognition of what he'd apparently only begun to suspect.

As he confirmed her condition, John finally released his grasp on her wrist, staring at her, stunned. "Marion? Is this why you left? Because of the babe?"

She shook her head. "No, on my life, I swear I didn't realize until after I'd already made up my mind and come here."

"But…why?" he demanded as she stared unseeingly at the ground. "I understand you wanting to keep yourself and the babe safe, but why cut us out of your life so completely? Were you afraid that Gisburne or the Sheriff would find out, would use you against us? You know we'd do everything we could to keep you and Robin's child safe, couldn't you trust us with your secret? And why didn't you tell Robin, at least? He has every right to know…"

"Please, John, for God's sake, for my sake, tell him nothing!" Marion found her voice and courage at last, turning to glare up at him. It was his turn to take a step backwards, startled by the vehemence of her reaction. "You can't tell him about this. You can't!"

"Why not?" he demanded, face hardening into suspicion once again. "You'll never convince me he has no right to know about his own child."

Marion closed her eyes tightly, then opened them once again. "You can't tell him," she whispered, heartbroken, terrified at sharing her secret with Robin's best friend but knowing there was no way around it, not now. "It would kill him."

Before John could ask what she meant by that, she straightened and looked him directly in the eyes. Her secret was out, but surely John would understand her reasons for keeping it in the first place. If not, all was lost. "You can't tell him…because he's not the father. We've never been together, not even once. If you tell him I'm pregnant, he'll know it isn't his. He'll think I betrayed him."

"Didn't you?" There was contempt in John's voice now, and she flinched away from it even as she felt a small hope stir in her breast; if he believed she'd simply taken another lover, then Robin was still safe from seeking vengeance against Gisburne…who she doubted had given up his hopes of goading the other man into a blind rage even after so long a time had passed between the act and the discovery of the act.

"Think what you will," Marion said tiredly. "I'm sorry, John, I truly am. But if you love Robin, then you'll never tell him my secret. It would pain him too much."

If you love Robin. Not "if you love me", oh no, nothing so easy to dismiss. But John did love Robin, they all did, even if John no longer believed it of her. Would it be enough, would he leave her in peace, now? Would the attempts to woo her back to Sherwood finally end?

Apparently not. She'd turned to lean against the tree, forehead resting on her arm, when she felt a gentle hand on her shoulder. "It would hurt him because you found another lover, or it would hurt him because he'd go after whoever it was that forced himself on you?"

She should have known he'd figure it out. Oh, why hadn't they sent Much after her, who would have believed anything she told him even if he didn't understand her reasons? Why hadn't they sent Tuck, who at least would have taken her words as confession if she asked that of him, and thus a sacred trust not to be betrayed, no matter his own personal feelings on the matter? Her shoulders shook with sobs, and she felt herself turned, still gently, and pulled into John's warm embrace.

She forced herself to stop crying almost as soon as she'd begun. No matter what happened next, John must not be seen by the others, and someone was bound to come looking for her if she stayed away much longer. "If you tell Robin, he'll try and kill Gisburne," she said dully, ignoring John's hissing intake of breath as she named her attacker. "He's burdened enough by the fact that they share the same father; he doesn't need to lose his life in a futile attempt to avenge me. It happened, it's over. Please, God, let it be over," she moaned, half to herself.

"Marion, you've a babe on the way," John said quietly. "Twill never be over. Even if you hand the child over to others to raise and remain here the rest of your life, twill never be over."

He was right, and the least she could do was acknowledge that to him. So she nodded, then looked up at him, tears once again leaking from the corners of her eyes as she spoke. "John, what I said still holds true. Promise me, give me your solemn word that you won't tell him." With a catch in her voice, she added: "I left because I couldn't bear the thought of seeing him dead, for real this time, and I can't bear the thought of causing his death, either."

He hesitated, just long enough for her to fear that he couldn't do as she asked, then nodded. "I give my word, Marion. He'll never learn of it from me." His eyes went flat and deadly with his next words. "I don't promise not to gut Gisburne like the miserable dog he is if I ever get the chance, even if Robin hates me forever for doing so. It's the least that bastard deserves."

Marion nodded, too choked up to continue speaking. John embraced her once again, then turned without another word and disappeared into the greenery, pausing only to take up the arrow she held out to him.

Marion leaned back against the nearest tree, wiping the tears from her eyes and trying to collect herself before returning to her labors. The sound of footsteps and a hesitant voice calling her name caused her to start, then turn, hoping she looked more composed than she felt as she walked out of the copse to greet Sister Lettice, who'd come seeking her. "I'm sorry, I fell into a doze, it was so comfortable and cool under the trees," Marion lied as she met the younger woman and fell into step beside her. "I'm afraid my condition leaves me far more tired than I usually am, especially at this time of day."

"Of course," Lettice chirped, then turned the conversation to inconsequential matters. She was the youngest daughter of six, the only one, she'd candidly revealed upon her arrival two months earlier, her father couldn't afford to dower and wed off. Plus all the men he considered eligible were already betrothed or off to war. So he'd bundled her off to the church, where, she'd wryly admitted, at least she didn't have to share a bed with her other sisters, four of whom hadn't left yet to take their bridal beds. Still, she missed Fallsworth, her home, missed it ever so much…

Marion allowed her words to flow over her, giving the occasional nod to indicate she was listening, when in truth all she could hear was the churning of her own thoughts. Now John knew her secret; he and the Abbess were the only ones to know the full truth. The other sisters knew of her condition, of course, and that she'd been forced against her will, but not by whom, no matter how subtle—or unsubtle—their attempts had been to pry the truth out of her. At least none of them seemed to think she'd done something to bring it on herself, but then, none of them knew she was "that" Marion, the Harlot of Sherwood as she'd once heard herself referred to as by a passing tinker. If they did, she suspected her comfortable life here would become much less so; some of the nuns were vicious old biddies who delighted in gossip of the lowest sort.

But then, she could hardly fault them; growing up as a sheltered daughter in Leaford, she, too, would have thought any woman that ran off to join a group of outlaws in the woods was nothing more than a common whore. Now, she knew better than to judge any woman, even the true whores, the sad creatures who plied their trade on city streets or in country huts.

She just wished others could be as understanding.


	5. Schemes

**Sir William of Fallsworth**

_My dearest father,_ the letter began, and Sir William scowled. Lettie only began her duty-letters with such syrupy sweetness when she wanted something. More money, no doubt, or finer cloth with which to make under-gowns to wear beneath her drab clerical garb. And her last letter home had been dated less than a week earlier than this one.

He gave a mental shrug and perused the rest of the letter. After the first few lines of dutiful greetings, she abruptly launched into a tale that forced a strangled gasp from his throat. His lady wife looked up at him with an expression of mild inquiry in her eyes; he waved her away without removing his own gaze from his daughter's neat handwriting. She shrugged and returned her attention to her embroidery hoop, as quietly obedient as she'd been since their wedding night thirty years prior.

Sir William's thoughts were in turmoil as he read and re-read his daughter's words. Not only was there an infamous female outlaw being sheltered at the cloister to which he'd entrusted his youngest daughter—and a substantial portion of his wealth, although far less than he would have had to pay out in order to marry her off to someone of the proper station—but the whore was pregnant with the child of Sir Guy of Gisburne, de Rainault's right-hand man.

Who also happened to be the bastard half-brother of Robin Hood, the Earl of Huntingdon's son turned outlaw. It was as if God himself had dropped this information into his lap, through the medium of his youngest daughter's penchant for listening at keyholes and sending any useful bit of tittle-tattle she could directly to her father's ears.

He had a double hold on Gisburne, and through him, de Rainault, whom Sir William had been desperately seeking a way to destroy for the past five years.

He smiled. At last, at last he had a way to get his revenge. Revenge for the death of his eldest son because of the cursed Sheriff of Nottingham. Robert had gone into service at Nottingham castle, and because of the Sheriff's incompetence, had died at the hands of the very outlaw group to which Marion of Leaford formerly belonged.

Marion was hiding the fact of her child's parentage from all, or so Lettie claimed to have overheard her telling one of her outlaw friends. She was terrified of revealing to Gisburne that he was the one who'd gotten her pregnant. And Gisburne wasn't the kind to take such a betrayal lightly; no matter how he'd fathered the brat, the fact that it was his would be enough to make him want to raise the child, to acknowledge it as his own, even if it was a bastard.

A bastard, as he himself was, whether he knew it or not.

Sir William's smile widened. Oh yes, he could use this news, as Lettie had so coyly implied. For this alone she'd be amply rewarded, be given the increase in her monthly allowance she'd politely refrained from hinting that she wanted, all the soft fabrics she needed to keep the coarse cloth of her habit and kirtle from scratching her delicate skin. Every luxury that could be provided for a girl in a convent would be hers for the asking from now on, and no mutterings about how she was taxing his coffers. By God, if she demanded he release her from her vows and allow her to return home to seek a husband, he would do so without flinching.

Ignoring his wife's querulous demands as to what the news the letter from their youngest daughter held, he strode out of the room, his mind filled with plans and ideas as to how best wield the weapons he'd been so unexpectedly handed.

First he'd contact Gisburne with the news of Marion's "interesting condition". That should be enough to bring him running to Fallsworth. Especially if he dropped hints that Marion had named her father's child…and that it wasn't Robert of Huntingdon, the young fool who'd destroyed his future to take on the mantle of Robin Hood after the outlaw's death. His message would have to be carefully worded, to ensure that Gisburne caught no hints that would lead him directly to Halstead Abbey, thus bypassing Sir William.

No, he needed Gisburne, needed to see him face to face.

Needed to be certain he was weak enough to serve as the weapon Sir William needed.

That he cared enough about his name that it would be easy to blackmail him about it, and that he'd want Marion and his child back in his clutches that his own son not grow up a bastard.

That he'd be willing and able to gut the Sheriff of Nottingham like a pike, in order to have both.

Sir William smiled, the smile broadening into a satisfied smirk.

This would work, he could feel it in his bones.

Striding to the wall by the room's oversized entrance, he opened the door and bellowed for a servant.

Time to put thoughts into action.

* * *

_A/N: A short chapter, but a key one. There will most likely be a longish delay between this chapter and the next, but I hope it's worth the wait!_


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